


It only hurts when I’m awake

by forgetmenotjimmy



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 13:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13249170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetmenotjimmy/pseuds/forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: The story starts with a broken heart...





	It only hurts when I’m awake

**Author's Note:**

> Note: references events in Season 3

_The story starts with a broken heart_ _  
And you said, “Honey, fall apart… and I’ll fix you”_

He’d been a mess. Maybe that’s why he’d fallen so hard and fast. He’d been vulnerable, trying so desperately and uselessly to hide from his pain, his grief, his fear. And there she’d been, a strong and silent pillar in the storm of his mind. She’d offered her hand, offered him help. He’d taken it; not looking back, not looking forward either. Just looking at her.

Believing, truly believing that she could fix him. She could heal him. He’d had such an insane hope, unconscious but strong, bubbling up through the black fog that had been clinging to him for so long. She would be his salvation.

 _Me... drunk on you, high on us_  
_Didn't see it coming_

  
Looking back, he should have seen the signs. She made him feel switched on, buzzed, alive. One eyebrow lift from her could set his nerves alight in irritation, amusement, and later, lust. He’d been so consumed by her, so disgustingly, unforgivably blind. He hadn’t seen that she wasn’t as solid as she appeared. Putting it down to the Expanse, the mission, the whole horrible business, he hadn’t taken much notice of her strange behaviour. If he’d been more himself, more together and not such a colossal walking-disaster, he might have considered the oddity for more than two seconds. He should have seen it, should have known.

Later, he tortured himself with the idea that he’d brought her down with him. There he’d been absorbing all her strength when she’d needed help too. It hadn’t been her fault, any of it. She’d been weakened and hurting and he’d just added his pain to hers. Now they were both wrecked and it had been his own selfishness that had done it. Way to go Tucker, just another goof in a long line of fuck-ups. What a prize he was.

_Funny how things turn around_

_  
_ Two years ago he would have laughed in disbelief at his current predicament. Years of prejudice had marred his ability to see them together in anything other than a professional capacity, at first. Further, he had never considered any kind of romantic relationship with a crewmember before. He’d seen others try and fail to maintain discipline, objectivity and respect whilst together with someone else in the Fleet. His career was too important, he’d worked damn hard to earn his pips and still met opposition even after years of hard work and invaluable contributions to the organisation. There were those who would always hear his voice, see his face, take in his relaxed stance and be unable to believe he belonged. It was something he’d accepted long ago, had sworn to fight every chance he got. So he’d sweated, toiled, poured every ounce of strength into his work and been rewarded by seeing the progress he’d help accomplish. He couldn’t risk that on a fleeting romance.

Yet here he was. Heart bleeding over a badly-judged attempt at a relationship with his direct superior. In the middle of a critical mission to save his entire race no less. The full implications of this decision could not be overstated and he didn’t let himself forget it.

Some days, he blamed everything from the Xindi to Starfleet and Jon, to the rest of the crew to malevolent alien gods pulling strings and cackling as they messed up his carefully constructed life. Some days it did seem inevitable, like everything that had happened before was a fixed road, leading him to this point in time. It didn’t really matter; all he knew was that his life now was unrecognisable from any prediction or dream or hope he’d ever had.

_This hell is mine to pay_

_  
_ If only he hadn’t read that stupid letter way back when. If he hadn’t agreed to neuropressure. If he hadn’t given in and slept with her. If, if, if…

It was no use. He’d made his bed and now he had to lie in it. Toss and turn and burn in his own personal hell. Perhaps worse, he was very aware of her knowledge of his mistake, his presumption. He hadn’t been fooling anyone that morning in the Mess Hall. It had already been too late, his passion, his desperation the night before… Even a Vulcan couldn’t have missed grasping the full extent of his soft words, reverent and almost fawning touches. He’d loved her, he’d made rushed and fierce and tender love to her. And now he was cursing himself and her and the whole damn universe for the daily struggle to push through the hurt and shame and shit and just try and act like he wasn’t falling apart even harder than before…. than before…

_Take me back to who I was_

  
He used to smile, he used to laugh. He used to be able to think without her shadow in his mind. People liked him, he liked people, he lived in the moment. Flirting with beautiful women, chatting enthusiastically with other engineers, giggling with the bridge crew and grinning with the Captain, he’d been happy, he’d thrived off social contact, human contact. He’d lived. He’d really lived.

Now he was a fool. He was an experiment, a test subject to be studied, dissected, reported on. He pulled away from others, grief and shame his bricks and mortar. No one else to blame for feeling discarded. Empty. Nothing.

Vaguely, he knew that he hadn’t been ‘himself’ for a long time. Ever since…He’d been surly and snappish, reluctant to spend time with anyone for long periods of time, lashing out at anyone who tried to help him. Everyone was struggling with the tragedy, with the challenges and impossible choices they faced during the mission. It had been Hell for everyone. But when the weapon had been destroyed and they’d finally gotten back to their own Earth, everyone else was looking forward, looking to try and heal whilst he’d still been breaking. He’d been floundering in his own, familiar pain. Instead of a cloying liquid layer seeping into everything, his grief had solidified so much that he’d been able to put it aside some days. It was still crushing sometimes, but he found more and more that it had receded to consuming only some of his life, some of the time. But now it shared room with his new loss, a sick Venn Diagram that left him drained and bitter and numb.

He couldn’t leave Enterprise, not for anything, not even to get away from…from her, from the memories. They still cut him, cut him deep. But he just couldn’t leave.

Maybe if enough time passed, maybe if he made enough new memories to replace the old. Maybe he’d learn to be himself again.

He could pretend to be himself and some people bought it. If he kept trying, maybe it would fool himself too.

_To love was my mistake_

_It only hurts when I'm awake_

He’d always thrown all of himself into relationships, but this was different. He’d known from the start that she was unattainable, untouchable. Later, he didn’t understand how he could have been so stupid. The only thing he could think of was that it had happened so fast, when they crossed the line. For months they had been dancing around it, stepping forwards and backwards, pulling together and then backing away again.

For him, it had started the moment she’d refused to shake his hand. He’d known of course that Vulcans didn’t like to be touched, had remembered that fact only as he’d found himself with his hand stuck out like an idiot. The embarrassment had only deepened his dislike of her presence, of her in general, suspicion of her real purpose aboard and protectiveness of Enterprise and its mission, of Jon’s life’s work. But then she’d surprised him, had agreed to help them in spite of her logic dictating she do the opposite. Since then, he’d felt himself shift from outward suspicion and dislike to cautiously, begrudgingly respectful. He’d begun to enjoy their ‘disagreements’. And the dance had begun.

Or maybe that had just been him. Maybe she had always been still, watching him, assessing. Finally deciding to try him, take a chance on an irrational human. But finding herself disappointed. Withdrawing as fast she could, pushing him back like an awkward hanger-on, an embarrassment, a mistake. _Let’s forget it ever happened_. His words, yes, but still they felt like her thoughts, like all he was doing was helping guide her blade straight to his heart. Pressing on her hand, making sure it went all the way in.

All the time. Every waking minute. Whether elbows deep in a malfunctioning conduit or lying staring sightlessly at the ceiling, he hurt. Sometimes it was sharp jabs beneath his ribs and around his heart; sometimes it was an all-encompassing ache. But it was always there, it was always pain. It always hurt.

_  
I gave you my all_

_And you threw it back_

He can still remember how he felt seeing her that morning. The butterflies tumbling over each other in his stomach as he’d forced himself to act causal, saunter over to the table and sit down. Take a deep breath and then plunge in, throw them right into what he’d been turning over and over in his head ever since. Despite the nervousness, he’d still been feeling a slight tingling in his nerve endings, throughout his whole body. It was the most alive he’d felt since the news of the Xindi attack, the closest to being happy.

Experiment. It was bullshit, he knew that much. He’d been there the night before, had felt her desperate clawing at him, her breathless moans and dark eyes widening in pleasure.

After she’d let her robe fall, his whole world had narrowed. There was only her. Her soft skin, warm and supple and stretching over taught muscles and mounds of flesh he ached to touch and massage. Her firm lips, insistently pressing against his, releasing hot breath and barely-there moans, as if she was still trying to keep control but not quite managing it. The idea of her struggling and failing to contain her passion had sent him wild, set him alight. His only coherent thought: to please her.

He used every technique, every trick, every experience of sparking sexual pleasure that he’d learned over the years. He caressed, massaged, squeezed, grazed, sucked, bit and thrust, with as much precision and care as he could possibly manage with his body overheating and his eyes watering with the burning, the deep burning inside him. And what lifted his heart and sent blood rushing to his cock was her response.

Oh how responsive she was. Not at first, but quickly she’d melted even further, letting go of more and more control. How she moaned, quiet but seemingly involuntarily, how her heart sped up, breaths fast, how her fingers pressing down on his skin, harder and harder until he knew he’d bruise. How her thighs clamped against his hips, her body squirmed under his tongue, her nipples tightened and her eyes, those deep, dark eyes dilated and widened as he explored her, tasted her, pleasured her.

What haunted him most, after, was the memory of them coming together, the way she’d groaned, his name like it was being pulled from her wet, plump lips. He’d shivered to hear it, even as he’d emptied himself inside her.

And despite all of that, despite knowing that her half-baked, ‘human sexuality exploration’ explanation had been nothing more than excuse not to talk about it, or address it or think about it, Trip knew it was over and done. The given reason didn’t matter. The fact remained that she didn’t want a repeat, didn’t want anything meaningful, that she was trying to belittle what they’d shared, and by extension, belittle him. He definitely felt small. And stupid. And hurt. 

Over the next few days, all the instances where he’d thought they’d been sharing something, something special, when they’d talked about past memories, current troubles, future concerns, dreams, all their conversations that hadn’t been about work or the mission, now took on a new, depressing light. He kept playing those moments over and over in his head, dissecting them and discovering how wrong he’d been. That hadn’t been them growing closer, peeling back each other’s layers to nuzzle up inquisitively, curious and aching to find comfort and understanding. That had been him lowering his battered defences, searching for signs she was doing the same and fooling himself. Now he couldn’t remember anything she’d told him of herself. He was sure there’d been details, scraps of herself here and there…Whatever she had really been doing, letting him go on and on about everything and nothing, it hadn’t been for the same reasons as his. Whether it had been for cool scientific curiosity like she claimed or something else, it clearly wasn’t something she wanted to continue. She didn’t consider them lovers or even friends. He didn’t know what they were. Colleagues. Crewmembers. People who’d seen each other naked and knew each other’s names. God, not even friends… She must think him a pathetic fool. How had he let this happen?

 He tried to ignore the splinter of the word throbbing in his head. But when things got quiet, when there was no one there to distract him, the word whispers itself to him. It taunts him, laughing harshly. Loud and insistent in his head.

He keeps seeing her sitting across from him, avoiding his gaze, sipping her tea, dismissing him with every word, every gesture, every lack of a gesture.

‘I want to thank you’, she’d said. ‘I want to thank you.’

‘I want to forget you’, she’d meant. ‘I regret you’.

Well that made two.

_  
That’s how love goes, they said it_

What had he expected? After all these years, after all his failed relationships and supposed lessons learned, he was still the same naïve Charlie Tucker as he’d been at 16: baby-faced, wide-eyed and so, so foolish. Of course she wouldn’t feel anything for him, she couldn’t. And even if she could, it was doubtful that she would. He thought he’d learned that he wasn’t the kind of guy women settled down with. He was fun; he made them laugh, made them cum, but he couldn’t offer them anything else. That’s what they’d taught him, the ones from before, the ones who laughed and kissed and left him, going on to the real men, their future husbands. Leaving behind fun rolls-in-the-hay to fade into racy stories to share with their friends and daughters whilst living their happy, real lives. None of them would wonder who Charlie Tucker would end up with, wouldn’t consider that there would be anyone. Why had he forgotten that? No, he hadn’t forgotten, just hoped. Just desperately wished it could be different, he could be good enough.

_  
You gave up, fate wasn’t enough_

What was worse, he still felt it. That connection that sparked during the most passionate night of his life. He’d felt something different, something distinct from anything he’d felt for anyone. It was like there was an invisible string linking them and he was suddenly aware of her like never before. When they were in the same room, he could feel her there beyond his ordinary senses. Sometimes when they were further apart, if his brain quietened for lack of equations and problems to fix and imminent danger, he could feel her somewhere in his mind, knew she existed, felt her. It was so alien and hard to describe, even to himself, that at first he’d put it down to stress, to lack of sleep, to heartbreak. He’d ignored it.

But after they’d made peace with Xindi and he’d woken after a much-needed deep sleep to find her still lingering in his mind, he knew. This was different, this was special.

He laughed at himself. Special. Every time he considered mentioning it to her, she’d stare it him so coldly that his insides would shrivel and he’d turn away. Whatever it was, it was just him.

He was dreaming, he was fooling himself. It was nothing. He was…

  
_Stuck in a place where my heart’s frozen_  
_I lie awake with eyes wide open_

Stick to engines Tucker, at least they still need you.


End file.
